The Cougar and The Spring Chicken
by plaguemysoul
Summary: Divorced Sookie, 45, meets charming Eric, 33, an advertising executive, one night at a bar. Sookie has always been uncomfortable and insecure over her age, but could it take a younger man to make her feel empowered? Can he heal her mistrustful heart after the breakdown of her recent marriage? Can two people with 12 years of age difference work?


**Hey guys,**

**I own nothing to do with either True Blood or Southern Vampire Mysteries. I'm just a huge, huge fan., I have had this story in my head for a while now, but I'm not sure if anyone will be interested in more. Sookie is a lot older than Eric, and they try to be in a relationship together, despite the age difference and struggles that come along with that from outside forces; Such as Eric's friends, parents, etc. Feel free to let me know if it's anything you would like more of.**

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_The Cougar and The Spring Chicken_

I'm too old for this place at forty-five; there's no denying that. In fact, when I look around the club, there seems to be no one even closely my age in attendance. Most are younger college graduates or men and women in their middle to early thirties. No one here looks as old as I do.

It throws me off for a second; I have never been confident with my age. But I am not exactly embarrassed by it, either. I'm somewhere in the middle. It's only being surrounded by people who look as if I could be their mother's that makes me feel slightly intimidated, as if I don't belong, and that I'm far too 'uncool' or 'hip' to bother with it all.

But I honestly never came here tonight to fit in or socialize.

No, I came here tonight to hopefully get drunk. I'm craving a heavy alcoholic cocktail after spending around ten hours on my feet at work today. I work as a barmaid at a little bar called Merlotte's, and I'm sure I'm the oldest woman there. I want a place to unwind at, a place I haven't been before, and this place was it.

Even the music playing isn't something I've heard before. It's techno-dance music, with fast beats and infectious pop lyrics. Sometimes I can't help but miss the eighties, where everything was all Spandau Ballet and Wang Chung. This music has nothing on the classics.

So I'm waiting at the bar to get my needed cocktail, and I swear the young female bartender is avoiding my eye on purpose. She keeps going to help out the young ones instead, and you can tell she assumes I'm too old for this place. I get irritated easily, I don't know if it's something to do with old age or not, but when I rest an elbow on the counter and am just about to scream at her and call her out on her rudeness, someone says from behind me close to my ear:

"What are you drinking, lovely lady?"

I turn my head and find myself looking at the most handsome lad I've ever seen in a while. He's at least a foot taller than me, which is an odd sensation, since I'm supposed to be older _and _hopefully taller. His hair is a dark blond, neat and combed back, and his light eyes stare at me intently. He's wearing a charcoal grey business suit with a green tie, and I'm assuming he's a lawyer or something similar. _Oh, god. I am too old to find younger men attractive. It'll never happen, Sookie. You're an old lady to him! He's asking you out of sympathy._

"I think this young bartender is prejudiced against old people," I tell him loudly, before I can stop myself. "I swear she is deliberately going out of her way to avoid serving me."

The instance I say it, unbelievably, this rude female bartender focuses her attention on the man standing behind me. Prejudiced, indeed! What a bitch!

"You never told me what you're drinking? Or have you had enough already?"

I laugh, probably sounding drunk despite not even getting started on any drinks whatsoever. "A martini, please," I tell him thankfully. "A _dirty _martini."

He leans over the counter and relays my order to the woman, as well as his own. I try not to look so pissed off once she puts my glass on the counter. Why is it so easy for other people to get served straightaway?

I go to pay for my martini, but he insists on paying instead. I'm about to tell him that it's so nice for gentleman in his day and age to still exist, but bite down on the tip of my tongue so I don't spoil everything. He's paid for my drink; An honest thank-you should be enough.

When his drink finally arrives, he turns from the bar and follows me through the crowd. I certainly wasn't expecting that at all.

"Thank you so much for being so sweet," I tell him honestly. "How hard should it be for a woman to get a drink around here?"

"It was my pleasure," he says, brushing it off with a shrug. I can tell he is nervous around me by the way his hands tremble as he brings his drink up to his lips for a quick sip. He's ordered a martini- the same as mine. I wonder if he always drinks them or if he's just trying to make me feel as if we have something in common, despite being strangers and the -probably huge- age difference. He makes a face at the taste of the dirty martini and licks his lips. It takes everything for me to hold in my laugh. "Jesus, I'm sorry, but these are... strong."

"Aren't you a regular martini drinker?" I ask, amused.

"Honestly? No, I'm not. I hope I'm not being too obvious with that."

"I never would have known if you hadn't admitted it yourself," I say, lying to keep his precious ego intact. "Why did you bother ordering the same drink anyway? Or was it just a... spur of the moment thing?"

That question stops him short from walking. He seems to suddenly look at me more directly, more focused, but his look takes on a quality that is, as clichéd as it might be, simply "smoldering". He may be younger than me, but there is a certain something about him that I find myself attracted to. Usually I never find younger "boys" attractive, as I know I am way out of their league. But there's something appealing about this young man that's impossible for me to describe.

"Ah," he hums nervously, "I guess I shouldn't lie. I find you extremely attractive and sexy. I thought, 'Why not buy the beautiful lady a drink and see if we can take it further'?"

He finds me attractive? Sexy? It's like music to my ears. Never have I had such a younger person tell me that before and, no less, look as if they mean it. His expression is earnest.

"You find me sexy?" I ask in disbelief. I have always been insecure. To hear that come from a young and handsome man's mouth seems laughable at best. Like a joke being played on me. "Honey, I'm the last person you would call sexy. I occasionally get arthritis in my hands. I'm going through menopause at the moment. I'm hardly what anyone would call sexy."

"Well, I beg to differ. You're incredibly, incredibly attractive to me."

"And how old are you?" I ask, immediately getting straight to the point.

His confidence dissipates ever so slightly; I can see it in the way his smile fades. "Well, you're forward, aren't you, ma'am?"

"I guess I am," I confess bluntly. "I've never been afraid to say it how it is and, just by looking at you, you look years younger than I am."

_You could almost be my son if I ever had one, _I think, but don't say out loud. I don't exactly want to spoil the mood, and the poor guy seems sincerely interested.

"How old are _you_, if you don't mind me asking?" he says, diverting my question.

"I'm no spring chicken, that's for sure," I laugh, working for some self-depreciating humour.

"Putting our ages aside, could we sit for a bit?" he asks hopefully. "I would love to get to know you more."

I hesitate. I feel as if I would only be wasting his time, but it seems as if he really wants to. "Sure, why not?" I agree lightly. "Let's sit and chat."

We find an empty table and he pulls my chair open for me before sitting next to me. I'm surprised by how good his manners are; His parent's must have taught him well. That's rare nowadays, in my experience.

"You have wonderful manners," I comment, before I can help myself. I cringe, but he doesn't seem to mind me saying that.

"Thank you," he says, smiling in a way that makes me feel oddly mushy. "I suppose my parent's were very strict. I have one sister; She is younger than me, and my mother would beat the tarnation out of me when we were kids if I didn't be nice to her and show her respect."

"Well, that's very sweet. I was brought up the same. Because my parent's died in an auto mobile accident many years ago, I was raised as a young girl by my Grandmother. She's... gone now, but she was a very strict yet wonderful woman to live with."

Suddenly, he raises his martini glass into the air. "To good, old-fashioned manners and values then," he toasts charmingly.

I lift my glass in the air. "Yes, to that," I say, and we _clink_ our martini glasses together. We take a sip at the same time, staring at each other deeply in the eyes, and he cringes in disgust at the strong Gin taste of the martini. I have to stifle a smile.

His light blue eyes fall to my left hand and he appears to be scrutinizing it closely. I look down at it myself.

"What are you looking at?" I ask, feeling a tad self-conscious.

He clears his throat gently in a nervous way, and moves his eyes back to mine quickly. "I just couldn't help but notice that you are not wearing a wedding ring," he observes softly.

My throat tightens and I manage, as neutrally as possible, "Well, I used to wear one. But... things went a little sour after a while."

"Really?" He sits up straighter. "I don't mean to pry, but what happened? How did it exactly 'go sour', as you say?"

"It isn't really a topic I'm all that comfortable with discussing," I admit. I have always been touchy about it. Since this man is virtually a stranger, I don't really feel he is entitled to know too much about my personal life.

"Of course," he says, sounding surprisingly sympathetic. "It's understandable. It is really none of my business anyway." He leans back slightly in the chair, making himself comfortable. One of his hands straightens his tie and I'm drawn to that suit of his again.

"What do you do for a living?" I ask curiously. "You look like a... lawyer. Am I right?"

"Actually, I'm an advertising executive," he corrects me, fingers still fiddling with his tie. "I've been in the same business for nearly three years now."

"Oh. Is it something you enjoy?"

"Not really." His gaze holds mine and he seems to be holding in a grin. "It bores the fuck out of me on most days. What do you do, lovely lady?"

For some reason, I find myself embarrassed to answer. My job isn't all that wonderful. "I'm just a waitress," I tell him. "I work at a little bar in the Bon Temps area, called Merlotte's. Sam Merlotte, my boss, owns it, hence the reason for the name..."

"And do you enjoy it?" he asks, sending my words back on me with interest.

I shrug and take a quick sip of my drink, before answering. "Some days I do, and others... I don't."

He nods, satisfied with my answer. "I guess it's always like that, isn't it? You either hate your job, or you just don't care all that much to begin with."

Our eyes meet again and we both seem to have difficulty in not smiling at each other.

Curiosity burns me. "What brings you here tonight?" I ask him. "Or did you just hope all along to find a woman you could buy her a drink for?"

He smiles widely, showing me straight, white teeth. "Not quite. I came here to unwind and have a few drinks. How about yourself?"

"Ditto, about the unwinding part."

"Where do you think you'll head off to after this?" I might be wrong, but it seems as if he is subtly waiting to see if I'll invite him along with me. But I have no plans.

"I have no plans. Well, I thought I would just have a drink and then head home afterwards."

"You live in Bon Temps?" He guesses.

"I do, yes."

"You're pretty far out then, aren't you? It'll be a long drive home back to where you live. I live in this area. Two blocks away, in fact."

The subtle implication in his tone doesn't go past me. "Are you inviting me home with you for the night?"

He bites on his bottom lip in hesitation and my eyes dart down to his mouth at the movement. He has wonderful lips. Wonderful teeth, too. "I think I have already made it clear enough how sexy I find you," he says, and there is no shame in his tone of voice at all. There is nothing there but bold confidence. "I don't know what you think of me, but I would like very much for you to consider it."

"Are you like this with all the girl's?" I tease.

"No, not usually. It takes a certain special woman to catch my eye."

Finding my confidence, I lean both elbows on the table and move slightly closer towards him in my seat. I stare at him through my lashes. "And are you sure you can handle a full-grown woman like myself?"

"I'm sure I can handle just about anything," he breathes, very convincingly. "And, if you do end up coming home with me, lovely lady, I can assure you it won't be something you will regret. As I said, I was raised to respect and admire women. I am sure I'll know how to treat you well."

I laugh, unable to help myself. Oh, so he's a cocky one. How can you not love a man like that?

"I would have never brought you for a cocky, flirtatious one," I say. "On first appearances you seemed shy and almost inexperienced. And now, here you are, showing me otherwise. Are you always this self-assured?"

"I can be, yes."

"Then you've given me an offer I find myself unable to refuse. Let's quickly finish our drinks and you can show me your house, cocky man."

"Oh, with pleasure," he says confidently, and we both drain our glasses in superhuman speed.

I'm left feeling confident and sexy- something I haven't felt in quite some time- as we head out the club together. It's an empowering feeling. I also haven't experienced being with a man in a long time, and no less have I ever experienced being with a man who is so much younger than myself. It'll be a new experience I'm certain I'll come to enjoy and this man sure knows how to effectively draw a woman in with his words, looks, and overall charm and confidence.

We step outside and I realize it's freezing out. In a way that reels me in even more, he notices me trembling and he removes his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders so I'm warm. Some of the newer generation sure know how to treat a woman wonderfully.

"Do you have a woman already at home?" I ask, not wanting to step on any toes. If he does, in fact, already have a girl, I would call this off within a heartbeat. I know full well, thanks to my failed marriage with my ex-husband, how damaging it can be to find out your partner is being unfaithful.

"I don't. I haven't for... nearly two and a half years."

"Oh. Why not? Don't think yourself the type for a relationship?"

"Of course not, that's not it at all. It's more like that I... haven't found the right person to settle down with."

"And who is the right person in your eyes?" I ask, quiet but intrigued. "Describe your ideal woman for me."

He takes a while to answer that, considering the right ways to phrase it. "I suppose I just want someone who has the same goals as I do. The same goals and upbringing similar to my own."

"And what about her looks?"

"I don't really give a shit about looks. I guess I want someone a little mysterious and enigmatic. Someone like you, maybe." A wide smile comes across his face and he turns his eyes on me. "Do I seem like the type of person you yourself would be interested in?"

Does he seem like my type of man? It's so hard to really say. Throughout the years, I have grown to be a little more realistic about expectations. "I don't even know your name," I point out.

He laughs; a charming, warm sound. "Forgive me, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I'm Eric. Eric Northman." He holds his hand out to me, and belatedly, we shake hands.

"Well, hello Eric. I'm Sookie. You still haven't told me how old you are yet?"

"Why should it matter?" he asks out-loud musingly. "Age is nothing but a number. All that should matter is that I find you absolutely fucking beautiful. Age is nothing to me."

"Well, I can't say age means nothing to me. It would only be lying."

We are walking up a steep path of a sidewalk. Just as we reach the corner of it, he points out his house to me. All the lights are off so it's impossible to see it. But it looks fairly small and homely.

"You sure you live alone?" I ask, just to be sure.

"I promise you, I live alone. It gets lonely sometimes." He leads the way and finds the keys to the front door in his trouser pocket. I stand behind him, patiently waiting for him to let me in. "By the way, I apologize in advance for the mess."

Him saying that makes me curious. The instance he beckons me inside and he races around, cleaning up and turning on all the lights, I look around. Messy is definitely an understatement. It looks as if a bomb has exploded in his house. There are magazines and old clothes everywhere, littering the floor. Empty beer bottles and cans and takeout containers. But, if he was being truthful, he's apparently a single young man who doesn't have to clean for anyone. Why does it surprise me?

I know I will sound too 'motherly' if I tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself, so I refrain from it. I manage to keep my mouth shut.

"How can I make this more comfortable for you and less chaotic? Would you like some music or candles?"

"You can stand still right where you are," I say, peeling off his jacket and throwing it on the nearest surface I can find.

"Now why would I do that?" he asks, playfully confused.

"Because I want to get this fucking over with," I tell him straightforwardly, bringing my hands to the straps of my dress. I peel them off each shoulder and manage to slither out of the stretchy fabric, without looking too ridiculous. He watches me as I kick off my stilettos carelessly and the poor thing looks overwhelmed by my brazenness. "Have you been with an older woman before, Eric?"

"I can't say I have, but as no doubt you have already gathered, I'm open to the opportunity."

Stepping closer towards him in my bra and underwear, I slide down on my knees in front of him. He steps back a fraction in shock, but I pull him in closer by grabbing the back of his knees. The shocked look on his face is emboldening when I reach up for the leather belt holding his trousers up. I pull it open, grab the waistband of his trousers, and fling them down past his knees, where they bunch up around his ankles. He makes a hissing noise through his teeth.

"Wow, you don't waste time, do you?" He sounds endearingly nervous and his large hands clench at his sides tightly.

"Don't move," I warn him. "I'm gonna give you the best blowjob you've ever had, little man."

Keeping my eyes on him as much as I'm able to, I put my mouth over him. His eyes close tightly and he makes a very low noise in the back of his throat. It only encourages me.

"Jesus," he gasps. "Wow. A woman has never... never done this to me before."

_And I'm certainly glad to be the first. I haven't done this in a very long time myself._

His hands fly down to my head, touching, caressing me tenderly while I start moving back and forth, setting a slow rhythm.

When he comes, he comes loudly, crying out my name and a few curse words. I lean back on my knees, and look up at him. It takes him some time to settle down; his breathing is ragged and unsteady, but when he feels better, he laughs quietly in bewilderment. "Wow, that was fucking... wow... amazing... I... I've never had a woman do that before."

Standing up, I start unbuttoning his shirt. Poor thing looks stunned out of his wits. _And he said he could handle me. _

"You really don't take it slow and easy, do you?" he mutters unevenly.

"I guess not." I shrug, peeling open his shirt to look him over. God, he's athletic and wonderfully muscular. Even better compared to how my ex-husband looked without a shirt on, but I suppose that has something to do with youth. "Still think you're ready for a woman probably twice your age?"

I go to run my hand down his chest, exploring tightly tacked muscles I've never had the pleasure of feeling, but he catches my wrist and holds it still. "Wait; How old are you really? Let's just deal that out on the table right now."

I hesitate. I don't want it to turn him off. I don't want how young_ he_ is to turn _me_ off either.

"You tell me first," I bargain.

"I'm thirty-three this year." I'm holding my breath. So he wasn't nearly as young as I thought, but he's still way, way too young for me. His eyes search my face deeply for any sign into how I'm feeling. "Is that bad? Does it really matter at all? Are you _that_ older than me, really?"

"I'm forty-five," I admit slowly, cringing inside.

I wait for it. For the moment he pushes me away, reeling in disgust. Only it never comes.

He laughs softly, alarming me. If anything, he looks relieved.

"Okay, so you're forty-five and I'm thirty-three. What the fuck does that matter? As I said before, age is just a number. I find you incredibly beautiful and sexy. Fascinating, too. And, if you still want to have sex with me, despite it all, I would be over the fucking moon."

"You're refreshingly honest," I say. _But he's so, so young._

"And, if I'm going to be even more honest, you gave me the best blowjob I could ever imagine having. I haven't had one before."

"How can you not have had one?" I ask in disbelief. "Has none of your girlfriend's ever...?" My words are cut off when one of his hands touch my cheek and he leans down to kiss me.

To his credit, no man has ever kissed me senselessly before either. Not even at my age.

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**LOL, I hope you enjoyed the beginning? Is this something you would be interested in more of, or is to completely ridiculous? Do you mind an older, divorced Sookie and younger Eric? :)**


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